


Weather Related (Marital) Problems

by Quiet_Shadow



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: Background Relationships, Bad Weather, Implied Relationships, Lovers Spat, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-17
Updated: 2017-06-17
Packaged: 2018-11-15 07:17:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11226012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quiet_Shadow/pseuds/Quiet_Shadow
Summary: In which Hound severely lacks self-preservation, Mirage is moping, and Jazz is set to fix the problem between the two friends/lovers/would-be-bondmates… If Earth's weather doesn't go and sabotage his hard work, that is.





	Weather Related (Marital) Problems

**Author's Note:**

> Another fic I found back on my computer while sorting files. This one had apparently been written for a contest on Livejournal back in 2010 (and I had probably not posted it anywhere else). I modified a few things, corrected typos and various mistakes (eh, I became much better at writing in english over the last seven years) and hopefully, the fic is better for it. Enjoy your reading.

“This whole ordeal is getting out of proportion, Mirage.”

Those had been Jazz first words upon joining the former noble in the Rec Room. No _‘Hello, good to see you, how are you doing my mech?’_ , no happy waving at whoever was off-duty and presently in the room, just those few words as he settled himself at the same table as the Ligier, who stared at him blankly.

“May I ask what you are talking about?” he deadpanned convincingly. But he knew, oh he knew exactly what Jazz was alluding to.

On cue, the black and white Porsche cocked his head, smiling wildly. “Why, you and Hound, sweetspark.” But the grin didn’t reach his visor, showing he was, in fact, far from amused.

Mirage sneered at him; it probably wasn’t smart, given Jazz was his superior and because as fun-loving and easy-going as Jazz usually was, the white and black mech had a mean streak to him one didn’t want to get aimed at him, but Mirage sneered anyway. “There is nothing to discuss.”

“My mech, I’m convinced of the contrary,” his superior officer singsonged. Under the table, one of his legs swiftly circled one of Mirage, their ankles interlocking together and stopping the blue mech from rising from his chair without faltering and starting a commotion. Mirage glared at him half-heartedly; he should have seen that one coming…

He leaned back in his chair, vents heaving. “Jazz, seriously, it’s not a subject I want to broach now. Hound and I just had a… misunderstanding.”

“A ‘misunderstanding’ which has now lasted for about three Earth weeks; a record for the two of you,” mumbled Jazz.

Mirage shook his head. “Almost four,” he whispered back. Jazz raised an optic ridge behind his visor. Well, he would have to transmit the info to the betting pool… Smokescreen was going to be delighted.

“Come on, my mech; tell me all your secrets,” he slurred into Mirage’s audio.

Mirage smirked. “No can do, Boss; it’s not in my job description,” he answered good-naturedly.

Jazz pouted. “I’m pretty sure it is, actually.”

It was pretty hard to fight a smile; Jazz’s look was just too amusing. Still, Mirage kept a distant look on his face. “I’m paid to give you Con secrets, not for chatting with you about my private life.”

“Damn… at least, tell me what got you so revved against our lovely tracker,” he asked, flashing his visor at him. “I’m not joking around, Mirage. I want answers about that one, and fast.” He still had an easy-going smile on his face, but his posture was rigid. Jazz meant business, and ‘no’ or ‘get lost’ weren’t acceptable answers unless one wanted their life to turn into the living Pit.

Mirage understood it completely and after weighting the pros and the cons, he sighed. “Nothing out of the ordinary; the usual,” he said vaguely, knowing that Jazz wouldn’t be satisfied with his answer regardless.

Effectively, the Porsche chided him gently. “Aww, come on, Raj’; you can lie better than this. Didn’t I teach you how?” Mirage shrugged. Of course Jazz did; however, it wasn’t about lying convincingly right now, was it?

Jazz patted him gently on the arm. “Let me take a guess, since you don’t want to start that much-needed discussion. Did Hound had another excursion project that didn’t meet your standards?”

Mirage bit his lower lip. “You could say that,” he started carefully. “In a way…”

The Special Ops Head sighed. “Oh, Raj’… can’t you make my job easier?” The look on Mirage’s face clearly said ‘Pit, no!’.

“I don’t understand your vindictiveness about Hound’s hobbies, especially these last orns. You didn’t seem so adverse to go and explore with him before,” pointed out Jazz, putting his elbows on the table and interlacing his fingers under his chin. “In fact, you even seemed to enjoy yourself during most of our excursions along with Trailbreaker and Beachcomber. So what changed, exactly?”

Mirage’s vents let out a long gale of air. “Honestly, Jazz; it’s none of your business.”

Jazz smirked. “Isn’t it? When half the Ark notices something is wrong between your mechfriend and you…”

Mirage sputtered. “We’re not a couple!” Not an official one at any rate, though Mirage should probably admit that they spent a lot of time together and that their friendship had many… benefits attached.

Jazz snorted and continued. “… and that even the Decepticons seem to have noticed there is a rift between the two of you and start trying to take advantage of said rift, I sure think it’s my problem, Raj’.”

The blue mech winced, thinking back about their latest skirmish against the ‘cons; although he hadn’t looked very different from usual and hadn’t said anything aloud, Mirage had noticed the pointed glances Starscream’s threw at him and at Hound, as well as the all-knowing smirk he flashed at them. That just spelled troubles…

“As for the couple thing?” continued the Special Ops Head almost innocently. “Mirage, my mech, only a dead, blind drone or Shockwave wouldn’t notice the two of you are so jumping each other behind closed doors.”

“We’re only occasional berthmates,” Mirage tried to insist.

Jazz just smirked. Ah, terminology and semantics. “Yeah, for about… eighty vorns before we crash-landed on Earth. Eighty-one vorns, three orns, two joors and six breems, to be precise.” Mirage looked at him crossly, but didn’t comment further.

“So… mind telling me what the big deal is?” he asked boringly, but there was an edge to his voice that make Mirage look at him warily. Sure, Jazz was a good mech, a go-lucky, happy individual, and a caring superior who wouldn’t expect any more of them than he himself could and would go for.

But, as Mirage had also mused earlier, Jazz was also a dangerous, vicious killer and interrogator when the need presented itself. And somewhere in the back of his CPU, Mirage just knew he was the latest target who was going to suffer the black and white mech’s attentions should he not give the right answers to Jazz’s query.

“Is that an interrogation?” he mumbled unhappily.

Jazz barely nodded in agreement. “Depends; if you’re not convinced enough, I borrowed some cuffs from Prowl and there are a couple of unused rooms I can borrow for an hour or two…”  
Mirage stared at him as if he was crazy; surely, Jazz wouldn’t… Scratch that; it was Jazz; of course he would, if he thought for one second his Special Ops team was in jeopardy.

A deep sigh escaped the former noble, who looked at his superior guardedly. “I’ll better start explaining, then?”

Jazz nodded happily. “You do that, my mech. So, what the problem with Hound? Had a spat about local fauna?” he asked gently, finally releasing Mirage’s leg and ankle now that he had the certainty the spy wasn’t going to bolt.

Mirage shrugged. Good guess as any. It was no secret among the Ark’s crew that Mirage disliked Earth and would have rather liked to still be on Cybertron. And it was no secret that Hound wouldn’t want to leave Earth any time soon, even in the eventual case they could reclaim their lost planet.

“At first, it was nature, landscapes, animals… I could deal with that. I even admit a certain fondness for some of the animals he made me observe with him; they appeal to the hunter in me,” he tried to justify himself. Jazz smiled at him encouragingly, not fooled for a klik. Their born-and-raised nobles just didn’t want to admit one of his interests wasn’t ‘proper’ for his caste – and nobles had been very fast to frown at organics.

“Yes, it wasn’t so bad, at first,” sighed the Ligier. “Then, unfortunately, he started to get more in tune with the seasons and the Earth’s climate.”

“How so?” asked Jazz, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back in his chair.

Mirage explained. “You may not have noticed – after all, between your missions, off-duty periods spent outside the Ark and general lack of conversation beside the ‘Hello/Goodbye’ kind, you don’t spend that much time with each member of the crew, but these last couple of Earth’s months, Hound has been totally enraptured by this planet’s meteorological phenomena. I swear there is not a single day cycle where I don’t hear him talking enthusiastically about sun light, heat wave, snow, rain, hailstorm, wind and…” he paused for effect, looking directly into Jazz’s optics, “ **rain**!” he finished with a unconvincing sneer.

Jazz cocked his head to the side. “What’s wrong with rain?” It had to be serious for Mirage to mention it twice.

Mirage gritted his dental plate. “What is not wrong with rain, you should ask!” he said hotly, paying no mind to Windcharger, who passed their table at that moment on his way out and threw a curious look at them before leaving quietly.

“Awww… Don’t you like water, Mirage?” asked Jazz, barely repressing a smirk.

The former noble frowned as he turned his cube carefully in his hand, observing the way the pink liquid shifted. “It’s not that I don’t like water,” he started slowly. “I mean, it has its uses for cleaning and cooling overheating systems, but... Spending hours under cold water falling from the sky? I don’t see the interest. And Hound could spend entire hours sitting or standing in the rain, optics staring at the sky with a delighted smile on his faceplates.”

Mirage spoke neutrally, but something in his optics advertised his unspoken turmoil. And still, in the back of his CPU lurked some memory of a winter rain, and two heated body rolling on a rocky ground, moaning in ecstasy, raindrops falling over their heated frames, mist rising around them as more and more water dropped from the heavy, dark clouds above them… Yes, for all his talks, Mirage had enjoyed that experience.

But he shook his head quickly; one good memory didn’t erase a hundred of nightmarish incidents.

“Just to give an example… Rain leads to mud, mud leads to getting dirty and then having to drag yourself to the washracks more often than absolutely necessary,” he explained simply. “Rain leads you to slip on the roads, almost hitting your fellow Autobots or unsuspecting humans. And don’t make me start about those things they call ‘windscreen wiper’!”

“Channeling Sunstreaker, much?” joked the TIC. Mirage glared at him.

“Ah ah, very funny. But all of that isn’t the problem, Jazz. You know, as I do, that getting in the ‘racks with a friend can be… enjoyable,” he almost smiled, before his face became blank again. No, not focusing on good memories; try thinking about flying debris lodged into your windscreen. “I didn’t mind rain in itself, no. But now… anything to do with liquids or containing the words ‘storms’ or ‘winds’ is getting on my CPU!” he almost cried, frame shaking in fury.

Jazz threw himself back at the outburst, almost falling from his chair. “Hey! Calm down, Raj’!” he said, trying to placate him. “What’s so wrong about storms?”

Mirage looked at him like if he was crazy. “Did you really ask me what I think you just asked me? Have you ever been outside during one of those particular phenomena? Not just rain, but windstorms, thunderstorms and the likes? Or did you manage to avoid them entirely?”

Jazz shrugged in an apologizing way. “Well, yes, I experienced some first hand, but I don’t dislike them to the point of almost frothing at the mouth… Everyone seems to be cool with that,” he added, trying to placate the blue mech.

“I’d hate to think you’re that naïve. You do realize, I hope, that I’m not the only mech on board who has a serious problem with Earth’s weather patterns? Just ask Ratchet, he will tell you plenty about exactly what he thinks of this mud ball’s erratic climate,” deadpanned the Ligier.

“… Let me guess, he’s still not over last year’s hailstorm?” guessed Jazz, thinking back about the aforementioned incident. The Autobots had grasped that weather could change drastically in a matter of minutes, but damn if anyone on patrol that infamous day had expected that: the darkening sky in the middle of the ‘afternoon’, followed by violent winds, rain pouring over them… and then the hail, falling quickly and denting armors panels. Not big dents, of course, and their bodies were more resistant than the normal human’s vehicles, so no big harm aside from the surprise at seeing ice chunks fall from the sky.

The problem had been, Sunstreaker, Huffer and Gears had all been on patrol duty. And all had felt the blunt of the precipitations and complained loudly about the ‘damages’ they suffered, dragging themselves to the Medbay to whine at an already ticked off Ratchet, elbows deep into Wheeljack’s chassis.

In the end, the CMO’s trusty wrench had done more damage than the hailstorm ever could, and a wary Optimus Prime later advised his troops that in the event of another hailstorm, barring any important damages (which didn’t include scrapped paint and slightly dented hood, I’m not kidding Sunstreaker and don’t you dare say anything Huffer), they were on their own; automatic repairs systems were more than able to deal with the occasional dents.

The same could be said about any weather hazard his soldiers would encounter sooner or later.

Fortunately for the most unlucky mechs, Ratchet was more the kind to growl than to bite, and he would repair you in the end… if he judged you had suffered enough already or were just in too much pain.

Mirage didn’t look at Jazz for a moment, leaning back in his seat and staring at the ceiling.

“Hound, when he’s trying to study Earth, is like a big sparkling to who you suddenly gave access to the biggest pile of energon goodies that could exist. Earth is like a drug to him; he can never have enough of whatever it has to offer, and I don’t mean civilization, pop culture, or whatever the fleshies come to create. No, what he likes are the more natural aspects of the planet. Unluckily for me,” he groused. “Why couldn’t he drench himself in ‘soap operas’, or primitive music, I’ll never understand…”

“Ah, those outdoor types, you can never make them enjoy the finer things in life,” Jazz joked. Mirage didn’t even grace him with a raised optic ridge.

“Quite. Did you know he even petitioned – and almost begged – Prime to let him go about everywhere around the globe to experience first hand all the atmospheric systems available on this Primus forsaken world?” asked Mirage with a crossed look.

Jazz knew, of course; he had heard some of the discussion himself, and Prowl had filled him in on the blanks. He knew the requests had been denied, but he didn’t know it had badly affected Mirage and Hound’s relationship.

“Yeah?” he asked carefully. “Is he angry about it and letting you know?”

Mirage grimaced. “Oh no, he’s not angry – Hound is seldom angry. He’s more… disappointed than anything. Except about his latest fancy, of course.”

Ah; that was probably the real root of the problem. “Which is?” Jazz inquired.

“He wants to go over to India and see a monsoon fist hand. And he also wants to go and see what the wet season look like in other countries, among other things. Staying in the… United States doesn’t quite satisfy him anymore. Of course, Optimus denied him, bright mech as he is. Unfortunately, that made Hound quite… whiny for a time.”

Jazz nodded slowly but said nothing; he really wanted Mirage to tell him everything. Having one of his best pals and best agent brooding in a corner certainly wasn’t helping him to 1) do his job and 2) concentrate on more important matters, such as planning the next sabotage mission on the Nemesis.

Beside, in that kind of mood, he wouldn’t put it past Mirage to make a stupid mistake while in the middle of a mission. Prowl had done some calculations, and they weren’t really in their favor if the spy didn’t get a grip on himself and stopped moping.

Ah, dear old Prowl… Jazz could have lived without the other Officer regularly delivering him what he felt were necessary, appropriate statistics showing the chances of success of the Special Ops missions, based on facts alone. Although he knew the doorwinged mech only tried to be useful and considerate, his views on the matter truly grated on Jazz’s nerves relays at time.

Prowl never seemed to understand that luck, improvisation and talent played as much a part in covert mission than just relaying on scout’s Intel. That, he mused, was the sore point in their relationship, just like weather related problems were the sore point in Mirage and Hound’s own.

Jazz thought about Prowl and how he liked to indulge himself when not on duty, and if any of them were fun. Prowl was so much of a workaholic that anything could turn into a job with him. Another thing Jazz positively disliked with his entire spark…“We need to indulge our significant other from time to time,” he began gently for Mirage’s sake.

The Ligier cut him off almost immediately. “Jazz, forgive me for saying so, but your lover's idea of a date or a romantic, off-duty period doesn't consist of going to see the Atlantic hurricane season close up," scoffed Mirage at the TIC.

The Porsche tilted his head and his visor flashed for a second. “Hound suggested you…?” the Ligier nodded solemnly. “I take it wasn’t about the monsoon, then?”

“It was partly about the monsoon,” Mirage admitted, looking away. “Sort of. We already had a heated discussion about going together, even prior to Prime’s refusal. I was reluctantly starting to agree, provided Hound didn’t ask for anything else and it seemed to work. Then Prime refused and Hound started to look up into intense phenomena he could still experience across this continent. I was wary but ready to accept at first… But then Hound actually listed what he wished to go see and I really drew the line when he asked me to go and see a tornado with him in Indiana three months ago,” the Ligier drawled.

Jazz tried to grin, but found himself unable to. “Good survival instincts, my mech; I wouldn’t have been caught outside either during one of… those,” he finished lamely. He once saw tornados on Teletraan-1’s screens, and he also saw the damages they caused to humans’ habitations. Pit, he had even taken a small team with him to go and help the survivors! No, he certainly could have lived without knowing about tornados.

And Hound had wanted to see one close up? The TIC frowned, thinking that the Jeep might have seriously crossed wires somewhere; anybody sane would have headed as far as possible from the funnel clouds…

At least now he could better understand some of the spat between the two friends/occasional lovers/future bondmates (he had money on it) once they got the chance.

The blue mech nodded at him clearly pleased that the black and white mech shared his opinion. “I knew you would see my point. As I stated, I let him know I wasn’t interested in going and since the Decepticons choose that period to intensify their raids, the matter was temporarily dropped. But last month, Hound asked me again about the tornado watching and that’s when we… had our latest… difference in opinions. He had just asked me to accompany him tornado watching out of the blue. From a safe distance, with a bunch of human scientists, he said. But I didn’t want to go, never wanted to, and will certainly never want to.” He sighed. “Unfortunately, he didn’t take my refusal very well. And from there, we started what I should call a downward spiral,” he finished flatly, optics staring at his still full cube without really seeing it. “We… haven’t got the chance to really talk after that, and when we did, it usually ended sourly. And two weeks ago, he took most of his personal possessions out of our shared quarters and went to stay with Beachcomber.”

The former noble abruptly raised his cube and drank a mouthful. Jazz frowned; something didn’t add up. Sure, Hound and Mirage having a lover’s spat over one of their non-shared interests could have been bad, but Hound wasn’t the kind to hold a grudge; he was probably one of the most tolerant ‘bot on the Ark, aside from Jazz himself, Prime and Bumblebee.  
In theory, any difficulty he encountered in his relationship with the blue spy would have been more or less easily resolved in a matter of Earth’s days. But stretching to almost one month and half with a change of quarters to boot… It should never have reached this level, unless…

Jazz straightened and looked at his fellow spy attentively. “Mirage… Just how did you present your refusal, exactly?”

He wasn’t exactly surprised when the Tower-mech startled a little; had he been any other mech, the Special Ops Head knew he would have been fidgeting. He sighed deeply. “Mirage, my mech, what did you say to him? Something to do with your and his origins, perhaps?” he guessed again.

It was sort-of a sore point between the burgeoning couple; not that Mirage meant any harm most of the time, but he had grown up with some pretty high standards and an inclination to sneer at anyone of a lesser standing. His interests were mainly hunts, parties and anything to do with high-priced art and quality produces. There was a reason Mirage could easily hang out with Sunstreaker or Tracks when all of them were in a chatty mood, after all.

And Hound… Hound hailed from a pretty low-level city of Cybertron, one surrounded by nothing but plains and wildlife; he didn’t have the same idea of comfort and luxury that Mirage held, and he liked socializing and observing flora and fauna, be it on Cybertron or Earth.

How the two had managed to get more-or-less officially/officiously together was still a complete mystery for the Porsche. But no one could deny they looked happy and, well, right together. But sometimes, just sometimes, Hound just didn’t hold to Mirage’s standards, and the Jeep would be painfully reminded that the Ligier didn’t belong to the same world as him.

And usually, there would be some show of distaste between the two, followed by some awkward excuses and peace offerings, and things would go back to normal. For a time, anyway.

“Well, I… might have used words that were less than polite,” winced the Tower-raised mech, neither confirming nor denying his superior’s guess. “It escaped me, really, but once I realized just what I said to him… it was too late. You should have seen his optics, Jazz; If I had hit a turbo-puppy, I wouldn’t have felt so bad…”

“Mirage… did something happen the day Hound asked you to go with him?”

“There was a thunderstorm that day… Nothing too bad, not compared to some of the last ones, but… I got zapped,” revealed the Ligier, cheeks heating up slightly in humiliation. Jazz shuttered his optics rapidly behind his visor and tried to not laugh. It wasn’t really that funny: lightning could technically cause more damages to them than Starscream’s faithful null rays if they were unlucky. Still, it sounded very funny…

Mirage probably sensed his amusement, because he started darkening. “Laugh it up, Jazz; it certainly wasn’t fun for me! The tingling, and the pain in my transformation cogs! I was stuck in car form for the rest of the patrol, and a good part of the evening. It couldn’t have been worse! Especially not when it happened right in front of Cliffjumper, of all the mechs!” he almost exploded, making a few bystanders turn their heads toward him. The Ligier flushed and stared heatedly at his half-empty cube.

Ah… that might explain a few things, mused Jazz, still silent. Getting humiliated in such a way probably had put Mirage’s sarcastic CPU and sharp glossa on the forefront. The ensuing, inevitable trip to Ratchet’s Bay where the grumpy CMO may have treated you but not been very sympathetic to your plight might have been the energon goodie on top of the High Grade Cube.

Then, you go back to your quarters, in a very bad mood, easily irritated, to find your lover being, well, his happy but usually clueless self, who then announces he wants to take you with him to see a tornado …

Mirage looked at him, and seeming to guess the black and white mech had realized where the problem exactly laid, he lowered his head. “That’s… pretty stupid, isn’t it?” he sighed. “I know I overreacted. I mean, I didn’t need to be so… callous in my refusal, but… I was so… so angry he even suggested we head out for something like that! Did he even stop to consider that my altmode isn’t exactly suited for tracking in the wild, far from roads? Perhaps I went overboard when I said that to him… And then, he started to avoid me, and I did too, and I didn’t want to apologize, and neither did he, and each time we talked… It usually finished with screams,” he finished unhappily.

Jazz leaned forward and gently patted Mirage’s forearm. “Ah, Raj’… Someday, that glossa of yours is going to cause you more problem than a spat… For someone raised in high society, you sure know how to be rude, don’t you? Are you sure you never spent time with low-mechs bartenders and dockers before enlisting?”

Mirage flushed; even if it was friendly benter, it was striking a cord deep inside him. He had been raised to be the proper, perfect heir. Had his creators known just what he had been up to when he was supposedly studying alone in his rooms, all those vorns ago... “Jazz… don’t, please. It’s hard enough as it is without your insinuations. Besides, I’ll have you know Prime can be even more vulgar than I ever could.” Which was perfectly true; Prime could swear like nobody on base, and nobody knew where he had learned some of the more… hum, ‘colorful’ phrases in his vocabulary. Nobody expect perhaps Jazz and Ratchet, but if they knew, they weren’t telling.

Jazz gently chided him. “Yeah, so perhaps Hound was kinda… inconsiderate regarding his choices of venture and yours, but do you think he meant any harm? To the point of you treating him like cold slag?”

Mirage sighed. “I told you; I went overboard.”

“And were he to appear right here and now, wouldn’t you throw yourself at him and beg him to forgive you?” asked the black and white mech with a knowing grin, rising from his chair.

Mirage frowned at him. “I wouldn’t go to that far yet; after all, he’s the one who started the whole…” he started to say.

“Ah… Hello Mirage,” someone said behind them. Jazz positively beamed in a secret fashion, not letting his joy appear too much. Mirage, for his part, stilled. Slowly, he lowered the bright colored liquid containment he had still been holding, glared at Jazz who smiled back innocently (“No way it’s a coincidence; you stalled me until he came, didn’t you?” his optics seemed to say) and turned toward the new arrival.

Green marred with streaks of brown – dried mud, Mirage thought with a mix of fondness and annoyance -- dust covering a good part of his legs and hood… No visible damage, so no fight; had definitively been outside, so… Just came back from patrol duty, supplied his mind gently.

“Hello, Hound,” he said, face blank as the Jeep made a tentative step toward the table where they were sitting.

“Mirage… do you think we could talk?” he asked softly, hands hidden behind his back, like at sparkling at fault. “I think… I think it’s long overdue,” he muttered as he took something out of subspace – something bright, yellow, and flowery: a bouquet of sunflowers.

The former noble stared at him for a long time, and the Jeep fidgeted uneasily. “Hum, peace offering?” he said in a small voice, vocalizer almost squeaking in anxiety. Mirage still didn’t say anything. But finally, the noble expression eased, and he even smiled tentatively at his friend/lover.

“Be my guest,” he finally said, inviting the other mech to sit down. Hound smiled in relief, and took the chair previously occupied by Jazz, gently handing the bouquet to his almost-not-so-angry-anymore lover. Hopefully, he just had made a step in the right direction; he knew Mirage wasn’t so fond of organic flowers, but you couldn’t find crystal plants on Earth, and despite his growing unrest, the Jeep wasn’t exactly ready to go to Cybertron and face Shockwave’s forces head out on just for a bunch of flowers… Even if it would have been very romantic. Very stupid too; Mirage would have killed him himself if he had survived a stunt like that.

Jazz backed away slowly, letting the two of them sit alone in their corner of the room. Mentally, he reviewed his checklist: 

Having Cliffjumper and any other mech with a grudge against Mirage on duty: check.

Having any mech not on friendly terms with Hound on duty or patrol shift: check.

Talking to Mirage and making him realize he was acting like a petty Youngling: check.

Having someone else saying the same thing to Hound: check. After all, the Jeep wouldn’t be here if this part of the plan hadn’t been accomplished.

Arranging for the two of them to be relatively alone or at least not crowed and surrounded by friendly faces: check, he added after glancing around the room, noting that by now, only Trailbreaker, Bluestreak and Inferno were around, the three of them engaged in a discussion and not paying any attention to the other two mechs.

Lowering his head, he flashed his visor quickly at Beachcomber, who was silently watching from the doorway. The Minibot smiled at him and gave him a thumb up before making himself sparse; Jazz grinned madly.

Reward his co-conspirator/matchmaker in some way or form: about to be done, he mused as he left the Rec Room without glancing back.

Mission: get the two lovebirds back together: Complete.

Still, the Porsche made a mental note to watch out for the weather forecast; who knew if the blasted thing wasn’t going to cause problems again. Quickly, he made a search; no, apparently, the weather was fine for the next week or so. Crisis adverted; he smiled.

“Mission accomplished, old buddy. Thank you for your help,” he said sliding next to the blue and white Minibot, who was waiting for him a bit further down the hall. “At least, the crisis is resolved,” he added cheerfully.

Beachcomber seemed pensive. “Oh, I wouldn’t bet on that just yet.” Jazz gave him a questioning look, and the Minibot elaborated. “We may be approaching the end of summer, yes, but fall is approaching fast enough, with its own climate. And although I don’t think Mirage will object to watching the falling leaves in a forest, I doubt he’s going to be quite happy with all the projects Hound formed for the season.”

Jazz stilled. Thought back about it for a second. And reached a foreboding conclusion. “Oh, slag.”

**End**


End file.
